


a multitude of sins

by lehtonen



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: M/M, Realisation of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehtonen/pseuds/lehtonen
Summary: There was a tenderness inside him, growing, that threatened to radiate outwards, spilling like water from an overfilled cup, whenever he looked at Zeke and saw the hopeless cast of his narrow shoulders, the winded, wounded look in his wide-set eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bourgeois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bourgeois/gifts).



It snowed in New York, that winter, and Mylene was through with Zeke by the time the first layer of icy white settled lightly over the Bronx.

In the immediate aftermath, Zeke took to staying with Shao, seeking out comfort in his company, perhaps. He’d fall asleep an arm’s breadth away on the threadbare mattress they shared for warmth, his spine curved like a cat’s, long limbs folded protectively up against his chest.

For weeks, he was uncharacteristically quiet, newly bereft and hurting with it. Listless, he sat for hours at the window, arms wrapped tight around his bony knees, as though to move would be to let the pain in and this strange, ascetic stillness was his last defence against it.

Shao, in contrast, was restless, talkative, pacing the floors of the building like a caged animal, energy vibrating down the length of his bones and thrumming, barely contained, beneath his skin. He just - he couldn’t understand how Zeke could be quite so near and yet so distant at the same time; Zeke, who felt everything so keenly that at times just being near him was like sitting too close to an open flame, close enough that Shao could almost feel his own skin burning too.

Shao rarely knew what to say to him, now. A lot of things went unspoken.

—

Undeniably, Shao had been jealous of Mylene. That, it seemed, was indisputable fact, common knowledge.

He hadn’t had cause to look beyond that, though, before, had barely even skimmed the surface of his own feelings. What was the point in having skin in the game, when Zeke and Mylene were fated to last, their romance destined, written in the stars? His bitterness, his possessiveness, had had all the harmless impotence of an unloaded gun.

Now, though -

Shao was careful to keep his distance, at night.

There was a tenderness inside him, growing, that threatened to radiate outwards, spilling like water from an overfilled cup, whenever he looked at Zeke and saw the hopeless cast of his narrow shoulders, the winded, wounded look in his wide-set eyes. It was harder to deny it to himself, now that the spectre of Mylene between them was just that; a remnant, a ghost, nothing more.

And then, that day just before Christmas, when Dizzee had stood before them, a golden-haired white boy at his side, and reached down to take his hand, defiant and nervous -

Shao didn’t let himself think about it. Or, well. Tried not to, anyway.

On the decks, they still shone. Zeke spat out his pain like poison, harsh and uncompromising, and Shao’s hands flew to keep up, his fingers nimble, creating and shaping entire universes for Zeke’s words to populate, the crowd screaming in adulation at their feet. Afterwards, flushed with the catharsis of it all, triumphant, victorious, Zeke would grin at Shao, his teeth sharp and pointed and his smile a fragile, dangerous thing, and Shao’s own world would crumble and fall to pieces around him.

—

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” Zeke confessed to him one night, hushed so as not to disturb the perfect stillness of the air around them. He lay on his side, facing away from Shao, the sinuous line between his shoulder and hip a mountain range that Shao found himself wary of breaching.

“You’re not,” Shao replied with a certainty he didn’t feel, because he owed Zeke that much, at least. “You won’t.”

Zeke was silent for a long time, until the sky outside the window had turned a deep navy blue tinged ashy grey where it met the horizon, the stark and luminous New York landscape jutting upwards, silhouetted against the heavens like a sea of desperate, outstretched hands. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, and Shao’s heart, involuntarily, ached for him. “She said that we’d changed. That we weren’t the same people, but I thought she wanted me to be different, you know? And I just, I don’t - I don’t know who I am anymore, Shao.”

Shao swallowed. His own pulse sounded strangely loud in his ears. “That’s bullshit, man. You don’t change who you are for some bi- for anyone. You do it for you.”

At that, Zeke laughed, but the sound was raspy from disuse, more tired than amused, harsh in the quiet. “Thanks.” He sounded drowsy, on the verge of sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping much lately, Shao knew.

Well, that made two of them.

“Sleep,” Shao said, a helpless command. Zeke didn’t reply, for long enough that Shao began to think he’d bucked tradition and obeyed, but then, with an abrupt, heavy sigh, Zeke moved in closer, the creaking of the mattress springs beneath their weight loud in the silence of the room, until the solid length of his back was pressed insistently up against Shao’s side.

All of a sudden, Shao couldn’t breathe, his attention zeroing in on the heat of Zeke’s body so close to his own, a heat of an entirely different nature bubbling upwards from the pit of his belly, setting him alight and burning him up from the inside out. For a long moment, he stayed still, tense, his muscles locked into place, until Zeke’s breathing fell into an easy, predictable pattern.

In slumber, his languor was contagious, and Shao let himself relax. Slowly, carefully, so that Zeke wouldn’t wake, Shao turned, until Zeke’s back was pressed up against his chest, and then slid his hand over and around Zeke’s waist, letting it come to rest low on Zeke’s stomach.

They fit together seamlessly, like this. Shao closed his eyes tight against the truth of it, the simplicity.

When he woke, too few hours later, neither of them had moved. If anything, they were pressed even closer together, breathing in tandem, their heartbeats roughly aligned through the layers of skin and bone and muscle that separated them, Shao’s fingers still tangled loosely in the worn cotton of Zeke’s t-shirt.

They didn't talk about it. And when it happened again, and again, they didn't talk about it then, either.

—

Mylene returned in January.

Shao wanted to hate her, was convinced that he did hate her, until he saw her again, slender and beautiful against a backdrop of burned out buildings. The snow still lay thick upon the ground here, undisturbed, and the delight on Mylene’s face was visible from a hundred feet away. Her two friends shrieked as they hurled snowballs at each other, running and slipping haphazardly around the boundaries of the lot, but Mylene just stood, serene as a statue in its centre, her gaze lifted to the pale white sky that hung low and heavy above them.

Life in Manhattan suited Mylene; she looked glamorous, put together, older somehow, and Shao, who'd never leave the Bronx, felt, paradoxically, like he understood her better now. She'd done the impossible - she'd set herself free. How could he, how could anyone, begrudge her that, when freedom was, in truth, the one thing they all had in common, the one thing they were all out here looking for?

He didn't want to tell Zeke that he'd seen her, that she was back. Knew that he would anyway. 

As he left, almost against his own volition, he raised one arm in a curt wave. Mylene, her smile shy but broad, waved back.

—

"How did she look?" Zeke asked, later that night. "Like - did she look good? Happy?"

"Yeah, man," Shao said, passing a hand over his face tiredly. "She looked great. Real great."

"Oh," said Zeke, his expression a painful mix of hope and concern. "Good." 

All of a sudden, Shao didn't want to talk about it - about _her_  - anymore. He turned, abruptly, shrugging his jacket back onto his shoulders. 

"Hey, what are you-" Zeke reached out with one hand, his fingertips brushing Shao's elbow ever-so-lightly before he seemed to realise what he was doing and sharply pulled them back. "You, uh, going somewhere?"

"For a walk," replied Shao, his voice short. "Be back soon."

"Yeah, okay." Zeke sounded small, uncertain, and Shao's heart thumped traitorously inside his chest. With effort, he ignored it, walking out and kicking the door closed behind him.

—

When Shao returned, it was late, long past midnight. He let himself in quietly, half-hoping Zeke would be asleep, half-hoping he'd be sitting, alert, by the window, his eyes dark and luminous in the light from the city.  

_Fuck._

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but as the blackness faded into purplish-grey shadows he began to make out Zeke's slight shape, curled up deceptively small on the mattress. Shao wasn't at all surprised to find his breath coming a little easier, at the sight of his peacefully sleeping form. 

He got undressed in silence, lost in thought as he slid down next to Zeke, barely hesitating now before folding his fingers proprietarily around the sloping valley of Zeke's hip. It was only when he felt Zeke tense beneath his hand that Shao realised he wasn't sleeping at all; rather, that he was staring off wordlessly into the darkness, his shoulders hunched in on themselves and his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

"Zeke?" He could hear the note of confusion in his own voice, loud in the quiet of the room.

"Mmm." 

"What, you couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that." As he spoke the words, Zeke pushed himself upright, twisting away from Shao's hand on his hip and shifting backwards until he could lean against the wall. "Actually, I was thinking-" He broke off, cautiously biting his lip.

"What?" Shao prompted him, wary. The silence ticked on for a moment longer.

"You don't make me calm," Zeke said, eventually. His voice was quiet, so quiet it was nearly a whisper, and at first Shao wondered if he'd misheard, but then Zeke shook his head with a soft, self-deprecating laugh, and spoke again, his voice getting louder, more confident, as he continued. "You - it's like the opposite, you know? You make me feel alive. But - but focused, too, you know, like there's all this energy buzzing around me and I can just reach out and -"

Shao stared, nonplussed, at Zeke's hand, where it had suddenly spanned the distance between them and landed, palm-down and fingers splayed, on Shao's bare knee. He licked his lips. "Man, you know I don't like repeating myself, but - what?" He sounded hoarse; he wondered if Zeke could hear it too.

Zeke moved in closer, his expression earnest and nervous. He didn't move his hand. "Hey, Shao," he began, his tone hesitant, apprehensive. "Can I try something?"

Sitting like this, Zeke's face only inches away from his own in the moonlight, Shao couldn't bring himself to speak. The moment seemed to stretch on for eternity; he saw the light in Zeke's eyes begin to dim, his expression falter, and then Shao's heart thumped painfully in his chest, once, twice, and he forced a nod, quick but sure.

"Fuck." Zeke exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping in relief, then righted himself with the barest quirk of his lips. "Okay, just - just hold still."

Shao, absurdly, wanted to laugh. He couldn't have moved if the building was falling down around their shoulders. 

And then - between one breath and the next, Zeke was leaning in, smooth and sudden, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration and his eyes sliding closed, and his lips were brushing Shao's own, and - _oh_.

Oh.

It only lasted a second, a whisper of a kiss in a dark room, but when Zeke pulled away Shao's heart was already racing in his chest, pounding like it did when he stood up in front of a crowd and span records for them, Zeke's ragged sound of surprise against his lips the roar of the masses when he took his final bow. 

"Yeah?" Zeke whispered, his eyes fluttering open, long eyelashes casting even longer shadows down across his cheekbones.

Shao grinned, feeling lighter than he had in months, lighter than he had ever, maybe. "Yeah," he said, as the sun's first rays hit the dusty window, bathing the room in the soft, yellow light of a brand new day. 


End file.
